NLFSD Chapter 83
by berryChapter 83
Jiwoon left the bar after downing three full cups of vin chaud¹. By then it was close to 5 p.m., and in true winter fashion, the sun was already dimming.
Cold… I should probably find someplace to sleep tonight.
He had gone to work that morning with no bag, so all he had on him now was his phone and wallet. At least his wallet carried both credit and debit cards, so finding a room for the night was possible.
Maybe just a motel?
The district was busy—several motels in sight. He picked one at random and stepped in. A clerk waited behind the tiny counter.
“Excuse me, do you have vacancies?”
“At this hour? Not normally, sir. It’s still day‑use time.”
“Even if I pay the extra?”
“If you’re willing to cover the added charge, then yes. One room?”
“Yes, please.”
He was too mentally battered and exhausted to worry about the cost. He only craved a place to collapse, cry, and let it all out. He quickly handed over a card, received the key.
“Third floor.”
“Thank you.”
Elevator up. Room unlocked. A narrow space, one oversized bed, bare furnishings. Lights harsh, décor bleak.
“….”
So tired. So cold.
He flopped onto the mattress without even removing his coat. Despite the heating, chill gnawed his body. Stiffer, more painful than when he’d been out in the wind.
“…Taecheon.”
The name slipped between sniffles. Whenever Jiwoon was cold or in pain, Seo Taecheon had always been there. Until only days ago. Now, the mere thought pierced like a blade.
He fumbled out his phone. Power on. Missed calls: 81. Seventy‑eight from Taecheon.
“….”
And over a hundred unread texts. His teeth worried his lip. What kinds of things had Taecheon written? Would there be anger, accusations, mockery?
Nervously, he opened them. Each one pleaded desperately.
Where are you. Please, just tell me what’s happening. Tell me where you are; I’ll come get you. Just… let me know you’re safe.
It was nearly begging.
“Taecheon… I’m sorry!”
Tears spilled fast, soaking his cheeks. He sobbed loudly, chest torn to shreds.
I want to run back, collapse into his arms, tell him everything. Even if only for one year of life, beg him to stay with me.
His mind crumbled with longing. But then his rational self scolded him.
Live one year, and then what? Make him live through spousal bereavement? Ruin his life for my selfishness? No. Find a quiet way to complete the divorce process. Call the Reflection Center tomorrow. See if there’s a way to finalize without face‑to‑face contact.
He forced resolve. I left once already, I can’t falter now. This is for Taecheon.
His sobs quieted to hiccups. Pain still cut — someday Taecheon would never know the truth, never know Jiwoon had died sick. As a man with no remaining kin, Jiwoon’s ashes would sit in a lonely charnel house, unvisited. And Taecheon would forever remember him only as that cruel Omega who walked away.
That’s what hurts most. But… it’s all I can give the man I love.
Weeping, dozing, waking again — Jiwoon scarcely slept. Nausea surged again by dawn, stomach cramps twisting him to the floor.
It’s starting again. The diagnosis was right.
He clutched his abdomen, teeth clenched, rolling in helpless agony. When it eased, sorrow took over.
“I can’t live like this.”
The doctor’s words surfaced: one option is comfort care, palliative treatment. Die later, but with less pain.
Two days of pain and terror made the suggestion tempting. Maybe I should accept medication, injections. Live gentler before going.
He dragged himself up, resolving to revisit a doctor. Problem was, dizziness now swamped him, nausea choked his throat.
“Oh God. That other hospital’s too far…”
He was in Gangnam, that hospital clear on the north end of Seoul. Now 8:30 a.m. — rush hour. Taxi, subway, either would be torturous.
Better to see someone nearby.
He changed his mind. See the original doctor later — for now, local treatment. Even basic medicine or IV fluids would help.
Checking his phone maps, he saw a decently‑sized hospital right opposite the motel. Not a university center, but a secondary‑care facility, staffed with multiple internists.
Perfect. Just get across, register fast.
At 9 a.m. he returned his key, left the motel, crossed the street, and stood before the hospital. A moment’s hesitation… then inside to the reception desk. The lobby buzzed, crowded already with patients and guardians.
At last his turn:
“First time here?”
“Yes.”
“Please fill this form. Which department?”
“Internal medicine.”
Paperwork complete, he sat waiting outside the consultation rooms, spirit sagging.
Every second ticking away felt like his very lifespan draining. He stared blankly out the window. Wind whipped fiercely; sleet fell. On a skeletal tree, a single leaf clung stubbornly.
That… that’s The Last Leaf². If it falls, so will I.
Sorrow swamped him again.
“Taecheon…”
He unlocked his phone, scanning stored photos. Too many. At first, stiff images for the government’s Reflection app — Taecheon’s stoic face. Then warmer: trips to secluded islands, the corners of his lips softer. Progressively brighter, even boyish grins.
Most recently, hiking images glowed, his gaze radiant with affection, making him the perfect subject, breathtaking.
I’ll never see that face again. Never touch.
“Taecheon—”
“Patient Lee Jiwoon, please enter.”
A nurse. Time. His body tensed. His chest wanted to scream.
Another doctor would speak of his disease. Another verdict. He dreaded it.
Sluggishly, he stepped in.
A middle‑aged physician greeted him, sharply intelligent, features keen.
“Mr. Lee Jiwoon, what brings you here?”
“…I had sudden abdominal pain, and drastic temperature swings up and down.”
“I see. Do you suspect a cause?”
“…I’ve already been diagnosed at another hospital.”
Hanging his head, he spoke. The name of the illness left the doctor frowning heavily.
“I see… That does fall within the rare disease category. Did you come here for cross‑check? Sometimes misdiagnosis happens. Were you hoping for second confirmation?”
“…No. The symptoms fit exactly. They already ran bloodwork. Today I came just because that hospital is far. I only want something to ease nausea, maybe pain relief.”
His voice faltered, breath heavy. The doctor watched quietly, lines creasing his brow.
Footnotes:
- Vin chaud (뱅쇼): Mulled wine with fruits and spices, popular winter drink; here mostly non‑alcoholic after boiling, warming and soothing for Jiwoon.
- The Last Leaf: A famous short story by O. Henry, where a dying woman links her fate to the last leaf outside her window. Korean readers often invoke “마지막 잎새 (Majimak Ipse)” as metaphor for fragile hope.